A Stranger In Haven
by Shauna Lee
Summary: Sheria comes to Haven to try to join the Guard but is drawn to a grim sell-sword in a not-so-nice part of town. Swordplay and mayhem ensue. Takes place shortly after Take A Thief. Please R/R


Disclaimer:  Sheria is mine, everything else belongs to Ms. Lackey.  This takes place only a little while after Take A Thief.  After reading Exile's Honor, I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so here it is.  Please keep in mind I tried my best to figure out how Alberich arranges his sentences when he's speaking Valdemaran, but I'm certainly no expert, so forgive me if I screwed it up.  Also, I tried to follow Ms. Lackey's format for mindspeech, but FF is dropping my italics halfway through, and I can't manage to fix it, so please overlook that.  Mindspeech is still indicated by colons and should still be easy to identify.  Please R/R, I'd like to know what you think.

Sheria sat back in the corner of the inn, trying not to be noticed.  Though she had been in worse taverns than the Broken Arms, and the owner kept the peace here, she didn't want any trouble, and women who carried swords and dressed like men seemed to attract trouble.  She was almost finished with her meal, and was looking forward to retreating to the room she had rented a few doors away.  She wanted to get some decent sleep for once, before she approached the Guard tomorrow to seek a position.

She found her gaze returning to the grim sell-sword sitting with his back to the wall, talking to another man.  She was too far away to hear words, but the sell-sword's expression held carefully veiled contempt for the other man.  After a few more minutes, the sell-sword climbed to his feet and headed for the door, a few people moving themselves out of his way. Apparently the man had a reputation for being dangerous.  He certainly looked dangerous with all those scars, she thought.  The man he had been speaking to rose a few moments later, catching the glances of three other fellows, and they all headed for the door.

Sheria gulped down the last bit of her sour ale, grabbed the remains of her bread, and slipped quietly out behind them.  Whatever was going on seemed to mean trouble for the lone sell-sword, and she felt the odds needed a little evening up.  Sure enough, the four men were skulking along behind the sell-sword.  She didn't know if she could do anything to help, or why she even should, but she followed anyway.  Her heart was pounding as she loosened her sword and knife in their sheaths, and she reminded herself she had no business getting involved, especially when she was merely half-trained and likely to get herself killed.  Besides, maybe the sell-sword deserved this.

Instantly her gut rejected that notion, urging her to follow, even as her head told her to go back to her room and stay out of something that was none of her business and dangerous besides.  She followed her instincts, as she always had, praying they wouldn't play her false this time as they had so many times before.  She stopped her internal argument, resigned to the course of action she had chosen now, and focused all her attention on the scene before her.

The sell-sword had stopped now, turning to face his opponents in the middle of a narrow street.  The few people who were around vanished like the morning mist as steel was drawn.  The grin on the sell-sword's face was frightening as the four others lunged in at him.  He fought like a demon, spinning and whirling, dodging away only to slip back in quick as lightening for a strike.  But four against one was lousy odds, even for a man as skilled as the sell-sword, and Sheria couldn't stand around any longer.  She dashed forward and hit one man hard behind his ear with the hilt of her knife, and he dropped like a sack of grain, the maneuver working only because she had the advantage of surprise.  The sell-sword took advantage of the surprise she provided to slash through the thigh of a second man, effectively putting him out of the fight.  Two against two were much better odds, and Sheria managed, barely, to hold off her attacker while he took down his, then turned to take down hers with ruthless efficiency as well.

He turned to her, but before he could speak she caught a flash of movement over his shoulder and lunged forward, shoving him sideways with all her strength.  He stumbled and almost fell, recovering faster than she would have thought possible, as the crossbow bolt hissed through the space that had a second before held the center of his back.  Unfortunately that space now held her shoulder instead, and the bolt hit her hard enough to go most of the way through her shoulder, shattering bone and spinning her around so she fell face-down on the cobbles.  Her arm was numb and her shoulder screamed in pain, or maybe that was her own screaming she heard.

He reached her side, dropping to one knee beside her and rolling her over to inspect the damage.  Cursing fluently in a foreign language under his breath, he broke the fletching off the shaft and reached around to her back, yanking the bolt the rest of the way out of her flesh.  She screamed again, the agony more than she could bear, and passed gratefully into darkness.

~*~

She awoke gradually, her head feeling fuzzy, in a room filled with light.  The window was open and a breeze stirred the light curtains.  She tried to sit up and winced, her shoulder protesting.  Her arm was in a sling, taking the weight off her shoulder and keeping her from using it.  She felt weak, with sore muscles as if she had been laying around for days, but much better than being dead.  The room was small, but pleasant, with whitewashed walls and a chair and small table next to the bed.  A man bustled in, wearing a robe of Healer Green and grinning cheerfully at her.

"Awake at last, I see," he said.  "I'm Healer Taran.  How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts," she admitted.  He flashed her a genuine smile.

"Honesty," he mused.  "So few of the men have it.  I like working with the guardswomen.  Their egos never get in the way of their healing."  Sheria had the impression he was making that up to cheer her, make her feel better.  He held his hand over her wounded shoulder for a minute, his eyes going unfocussed, then blinked and came back to himself, seeming satisfied by what he found.  "We put the bone back together, and it's healing up fine.  Wiggle your fingers for me?"  She complied and he nodded.  "Good, no lasting nerve damage.  You should be able to regain full use of that arm.  Don't try to do anything with it for at least a week, but other than that you're fine.  We've done as much as we can for you."

"Thank you, Healer," she said respectfully.

"Happy to help, my dear," he said, giving her another cheery smile.  "There's a page waiting just outside your door.  He'll take you where you need to go."

With that Healer Taran was off, leaving her to get herself out of bed as best she could.  She found she was a bit wobbly, but got out of bed with relatively little difficulty.  She discovered someone had found her a shirt to replace her damaged one, and her pants had been laundered and returned to her.  Even her boots, which she managed to get on one-handed with a bit of struggle, had been tidied up.  She stood catching her breath for a moment, then poked her head out the door to find a very young boy sitting on a bench in the corridor.  He saw her, grinned impishly, and jumped to his feet.

"You ready, miss," he asked.

"Where are we going," she asked as he started off, leaving her to follow in his wake.

"The Weaponsmaster wants to see you," he replied.  They were outside now, and she found it was late afternoon.  The day was sunny, with a few puffy clouds sailing lazily across the sky.  A warm breeze stirred her hair, and she ran her fingers through it, trying to work out some of her tangles as they walked.

"What does the Weaponsmaster want with me," she asked the boy, but he shrugged.

"Dunno," he replied.  "They tell me to bring you, I bring you."

"Oh," she said, confused and a little apprehensive.  She didn't know much about the Weaponsmaster or the city or any of this.  She only knew a bit about Heralds from the Bard that had sheltered from a blizzard at her father's farm one year.  She had pestered the man with incessant questions, but he was kind and seemed to enjoy telling her tales of the Heralds, the Queen, and the Collegium.  She couldn't imagine what such an important and busy man as the Weaponsmaster would want with her, or how he even knew she existed.  Maybe that sell-sword was a friend of his.

The page stopped at the door to the salle, motioned her to go inside, then scampered off.  She carefully opened the door, the noise inside warning her that there was practice going on.  She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, sweeping her gaze across the scene before her.  Students in grey uniforms were paired off against each other, sparring with wooden practice blades under the watchful eye of the Weaponsmaster.  She rubbed her eyes, sure her vision was playing tricks on her, because the Weaponsmaster appeared to be the same sell-sword she had fought beside in the city.  She waited where she was, not wishing to disrupt the class, edging over along the wall so she no longer blocked the door, and watched him work.

He was not a classically handsome man, his visage being more fierce than anything, but he moved about his students with catlike grace.  He would stop and correct one's stance here, another's grip there, until a bell rang.  The students all hurried to rack their practice blades and stampeded out, laughing and teasing one another as they rushed off to wash before dinner.  The Weaponsmaster watched them go, then turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"So, awake at last you are," he said, his accent strange, the words coming in the wrong order.  It took concentration for her to follow what he meant, and she realized he must not have grown up in Valdemar.  "Weaponsmaster Alberich I am.  Come," he said, motioning her through a door to a smaller room where a meal was waiting on a table, enough for two.  "Join me for dinner."

She sat down in the chair he offered and waited for him to hand her a plate and fill his own before she began eating.  She was curious and a bit afraid of what he wanted, but kept her silence, waiting to see what he would say.  He studied her long over their plates before speaking.

"A mystery you are," he ventured finally.  "Who are you?"

"My name is Sheria," she said after a moment.  "I'm second daughter of a farmer out near Holderkin lands."

"Why to Haven come," he asked.

"Father wanted to marry me off to a man three times my age, who I couldn't stand.  My oldest brother had joined the Guard, but when he came home to visit he would teach me what he could of fighting when Father wasn't looking.  I thought I would be better off joining the Guard myself than marrying that horrible old man, so I left."

"Why Haven," the Weaponsmaster prompted.  "Surely your local Guard station closer was."

"I was afraid my father would find me and haul me home, and I'd still end up forced to marry."

The Weaponsmaster mulled that over.  She took a sip of the ale he had poured for her, finding it much superior to anything she had tasted before.  The food also was very good, richer than she was used to.  She made sure not to eat too much, or she'd have a bellyache later.

"So, to Haven you come, the Guard to be joining.  Why with my business become involved?"

"I didn't like the odds," she said simply.  He merely looked at her, waiting for more.  "I saw you talking with one of those thugs," she explained.  "When you left, he gathered up his three friends and went after you.  I went after them, to see if you would need help."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," she said.  "My instincts said follow, so I followed."

"A smart move it was not," he observed.

"No, it wasn't," She agreed quietly.

"Nearly killed you were," he pointed out.  Her good hand crept up to her bandaged shoulder.

"Yes," she said softly.

"My life you saved," he said.  "And to you a debt I owe."

"Uh," she replied stupidly, caught off guard.

"But another time speak of this we will.  Your things fetched have been, and a room prepared for you is.  Tired must you be, after your Healing." 

"How did you know where my things were," she asked.

"A friend I have who helped," he replied mysteriously.  She was silent for a minute.

"Weaponsmaster," she asked timidly.  "What is to become of me?"

"Worry not you must," he reassured her.  "Later decided that will be.  No harm to you will come here.  Come now, to bathe and to bed."

He showed her to the showering room, left her in peace to clean up.  She especially attacked her hair with vigor and lots of soap.  Her scalp had begun to itch, and there were many tangles in the dark mass.  After she dried off and wrapped herself in a sleeping robe she poked her head out into the sitting room to find the Weaponsmaster sitting, staring into the fire, a mug of ale in his hand.  He glanced up at her, rose, and showed her into the small room next to his own.  Her things were piled next to the bed.  There was a fire on the hearth, and a lamp lit on the table.

"Thank you," she said softly, raising her hand to reach out to him, then changing her mind and letting it drop back to her side.

"Next door I will be, if help you need." He turned and left her, shutting the door behind him.  She went to her pack and pulled out her comb, sitting cross-legged on the bed to work the tangles out, staring at the fire.  Usually she braided it, both to keep it out of the way and to keep it from tangling, but she didn't see how she would manage that with one hand.  She twisted it up as best she could but it wouldn't stay.  After two more tries she sighed in frustration and let it fall free.

~*~

Alberich had returned to the girl's room, thinking she might like another mug of ale to help her sleep, especially if her shoulder was paining her.  He eased the door open, breath drawn to say something, but the words died in his throat as he looked at her.  Combing out her dark hair, her face in profile and backlit by the red glow of the fire, head tilted to one side, she was not so much beautiful as striking.  He stood, staring, his chest tight, feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment.  As she tried to twist her hair up one-handed, finally giving up with a sigh, he gathered his wits about him.

"Ale I have brought," he said from the doorway, causing her to jump slightly.  She turned to him, grinning a bit sheepishly.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said apologetically.

"Forgive me," he said, handing her the ale.  "Mean to startle you I did not."

"It's alright," she said.  "Ah," she sighed after a long swallow.  "This will definitely help me sleep."

"My intention it was," he said.  He hesitated a moment, then went ahead and asked.  "Help with your hair do you need?"

"Oh, it's alright," she shrugged dismissively, nervous for some reason to think of his hands in her hair.  "I usually braid it, but it won't kill me to have it down for a few days."

"Pleased to help I am," he said.  "For Kantor occasionally doing this I am."

"Your Companion," she guessed, and he nodded.

"Not often, but from time to time an occasion there is.  Some practice have I had."

"Oh, well, if you're sure you don't mind," she said, handing him the comb when he reached for it.  He half knelt on the bed behind her, one foot on the floor for balance.  His touch was surprisingly gentle as he pulled the comb through her hair, taking his time carefully gathering all the strands together, then separated the mass into three parts and neatly braided it.  She enjoyed the feel of his hands running over her hair, across her scalp, and when his fingers brushed her skin behind her ear it sent a tingle down her spine, something she had never felt before and could not interpret.  She wondered if it could be nerves.

Alberich tried to concentrate on braiding her hair, but something about the feel of the silken mass sliding across his palms mesmerized him.  He could feel the heat from her skin coming through her light robe, smell the scent of her clean skin and still-damp hair, and he felt a stirring he had no business feeling.  Giving himself a mental shake he carefully but quickly finished the braid, tying the end off with a leather strip.  Rising from the bed, he made his way to the door.

"Thank you, Weaponsmaster," she said, and he paused at the threshold, turning back with the slightest smile.

"Welcome you are," he replied softly, then left.  He went outside to stand leaning against Kantor, enjoying the evening breeze.   Kantor whuffed his hair with a velvet nose.

_:You like her, don't you, Chosen,:_ Kantor asked.

_:For me she is not,: _he answered.  _:Too young for me she is:_

_:Nonsense,: _Kantor replied.  _:She's old enough to make up her own mind about joining the Guard.:_

_:Different that is,: _he argued.  _:Ran away from a marriage with a man three times her age she did.  My age he was, and want him not she did.:_

_:She also didn't like him, Chosen,: _Kantor reminded him._  :I suspect that was the part she really objected to.  That, and never having had any say in the matter in the first place.:_

_:Brave to strike out on her own she was,: _Alberich mused.  Kantor snorted.

_:Braver to come to your rescue,: _Kantor reminded him.

_:Chosen do you think she may be,: _Alberich asked.

_:She has no Gifts,: _Kantor said, and that was all he had to say.  Every Herald had a Mind Gift of some form or another.

_:Then a Guard she may be, after training she has,: _Alberich answered.  He decided he would see to that training personally.

~*~

The next morning Sheria woke to a rapping on her door.  She struggled out of the covers, which had somehow become entangled around her legs despite the fact that she had spent the night sleeping on her back, and opened the door to find the Weaponsmaster looking disgustingly alert on the other side.  He held a steaming cup of tea, which he passed to her.  Already bathed and dressed, his short silvering hair glistening with dampness, he smiled slightly at her disheveled and groggy appearance.

"Well you slept I hope," he said.  "For to practice we are going."

"Practice?"  She was startled.  "The Healer told me not to use my arm for a week."

"And use it you will not," he agreed.  "Many things to teach you I have, so quickly dressing be."

"Alright, I'll be there in a minute," she said.  He nodded and turned, and she closed the door after him.  She lit the lamp and searched quickly through her pack for suitable clothes, managing to pull on the shirt carefully, then sliding her arm back into it's sling.  Pants were a bit awkward one-handed, but she managed them adequately enough.  She struggled into her boots, then made her way out to the salle where the Weaponsmaster waited, tucking strands of hair that had escaped her braid back behind her ears as she went.

Alberich watched her walk in, wondering if he shouldn't have given her another day to rest.  He knew from experience how tiring it was for the patient to have a Healing done, and for her collarbone to be put back together must have taken a lot out of her.  The bone had been shattered, not just broken, and it had taken several Gifted Healers to assemble it and properly fuse it back together, repair the damage to nerves, blood vessels and flesh, and make her arm fully useable again.  But he also knew it wasn't good for the rest of her body to lie about while she recovered.

"Know you knife throwing," he asked.  She shook her head.  "Then learning you shall be," he said.  He gathered up what he would need and led her outside to the targets.  He showed her how to hold the throwing knives, how to find the balance in different blades, and how to throw them.  She missed the target as often as not in the beginning, and had difficulty making the knives hit point-first so they would stick into the straw targets, but she had made some progress by the time the first of the Weaponsmaster's students arrived.

"Good," he said to her.  "Progress you make.  For now enough it is.  Breakfast I suggest, and perhaps a walk."

"Yes, sir," she replied, taking the throwing knives back to their proper place in the salle before she slipped back into his sitting room to see what there was to eat.  The Weaponsmaster had obviously already had his share, so she finished what was left, placed the tray back outside the door for the servants to pick up, then took his suggestion and headed out for a walk around the grounds.

It was a beautiful day, the air still fresh and cool, scented with dew and roses.  Not long after she began walking a Companion fell into step with her.  Sheria smiled and scratched under the white jaw, and the Companion whuffed softly in her hair.

"Are you Kantor," she asked, remembering the name of the Weaponsmaster's companion from their conversation last night.  The Companion nodded and winked at her, then with his nose prodded her over to a stone bench and nodded towards his back.

"You want me to mount," she asked, incredulous.  Only Heralds rode Companions, or so she thought.  Evidently Kantor had his own ideas.  Kantor nodded emphatically, snorted, and motioned to his back with his nose again.  "I've never ridden before," she said.  "Not really.  Are you sure I should?"  She was afraid of falling off, or embarrassing herself, or hurting Kantor.  He looked at her with an amused glint in his sapphire blue eyes and nodded again.  She had the feeling he knew exactly what she had been thinking.  She climbed up onto the bench, which made it much easier to reach Kantor's back.  She carefully slid her leg over his back and mounted while he stood stock still.  When she was seated he ambled off at a walk, taking her around the grounds so she could see everything.  The Collegium grounds were big and confusing, but she supposed in time, if she got a posting here with the Guard, she would learn to find her way around.

~*~

Three weeks later she had indeed learned her way around.  She had settled into a sort of routine which she regarded with bemusement at her good fortune when she had the time to think of it at all.  She still had the same room behind the salle, but the Weaponsmaster had moved back to his quarters with the other Heralds, giving her a bit more privacy.  Kantor often came to visit her after dark, and she had the feeling he kept an eye on things for the Weaponsmaster out here.  She trained with all manner of weapons, in different styles, learned to ride a horse (which was far different than riding a Companion), and slowly the strength came back to her wounded arm, and a measure of skill as well.  When she wasn't training, practicing, or riding, she helped with the chores around the salle, freeing up Alberich to give special attention to some of the Trainees who needed it, or helping him catch back up when he had to take time out for a Court function.

She found her eyes followed the Weaponsmaster whenever she was near him, and wondered what it meant, until Trainee Skif caught her at it.  The former thief was very observant and very clever, and quickly figured a few things out.  He managed to get her alone one evening when Alberich was attending yet another Court function and ask her if she had fallen for the grim Weaponsmaster.  She was shocked at first, then began to realize Skif was right.

"You coulda picked a worse man to fall for," Skif told her.

"That's just it, Skif," she shot back.  "I didn't get to pick.  And now here I am mooning over the most dangerous man in Haven."  She got really quiet for a moment, then asked timidly, "Do you think he's noticed?"

"Knowing Alberich, he's noticed you watching, but just figures you are trying to learn more by watching him.  It would likely never occur to him someone would fall in love with him.  He doesn't see himself as someone a woman would fall in love with, I think."

"Why not," she asked, puzzled.  "He's a good man, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Skif said.  "I think it has something to do with how he grew up."

"What do you mean," she asked.  Skif shook his head.

"Not my place to tell his secrets.  Maybe he'll tell you himself."

After her conversation with Skif she understood a great many more things about her reactions to the Weaponsmaster, and she also became more confused.  She had no practical experience for dealing with something like this.  She resolved to hide her feelings because she didn't want to know, once and for all, that he didn't love her back.  It was one thing to assume it, and quite another to have her hopes permanently dashed.  As a consequence her concentration suffered, and with it her training.  She could spar with anyone but him and do fine, but when she crossed blades with him she always lost her concentration, and very often landed flat on her back with him cursing her inattentiveness.  When he came to visit her she became tense, something he could easily see but could find no reason for.

After a few weeks of this one morning he had had enough.  They were sparring early that morning and noone else was around.  He was trying to teach her knife fighting, and after the fourth time he landed her flat on her back for some careless slip of attention he didn't let her back up.  One hand on her chest below her neck pinning her to the floor, he looked her straight in the eye and finally demanded some answers.

"Where your head is these days I know not," he growled.  "Fight better than this you can.  Why aren't you?"

"I don't want to discuss it," she said, knowing he wouldn't accept that but trying anyway.

"Tell me your problem you will," he insisted.  "Or let you up I will not."

"Fine," she snapped, a dangerous glitter in her eyes.  All the weeks of frustration, doubt, heartache, and confusion boiled up to choke her.  "You want to know why I can concentrate while fighting anyone except you?  Why I'm always watching you, finding excuses to be where you are?  Why I don't sleep anymore?  You really want to know?"  Her voice had gone rough with suppressed emotion, and Alberich sat back in surprise at her outburst.  She sat up now that he wasn't pinning her down and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"Because I love you!" she shouted.  "And I've been afraid to tell you, afraid you'd figure it out.  I've been trying to hide it, just to have that much more time with you, before you tell me you want me to leave."

He stared at her in complete shock for a long minute, then rose and walked out of the salle without a word, his own emotions too churned up to be able to deal with.  Kantor was at his side in a second, having sensed his Chosen's distress.  Alberich vaulted to Kantor's back and they thundered off to Companion's Field where Alberich could be undisturbed while he worked through this stunning revelation and the turmoil it caused inside him.

_:She finally told you she loves you,:_ Kantor stated.

_:You knew?:_ Alberich demanded, anger sparking deep within.

_:It was easy to see,: _Kantor said.  _:You were too busy convincing yourself you didn't love her to notice.:_

_:I don't,: _he said _:I can't.  She's too young.  I'm too old.  She's not a Herald, so she can never understand me.:_

_:Nonsense,: _Kantor snorted, stamping his hoof angrily and tossing his mane.  _:Chosen, you are being entirely too bull-headed about this.  Stop trying to think for a moment and just feel.  Can you honestly say you don't want her around, don't need her around?  That you want her to leave and take the problems she creates with her?:_

_:I…: _Alberich opened his mouth to say "yes" but it never came out.  The thought of her leaving made him panic, and his chest constricted.  _:Hellfires, I don't want her to leave,: _ he said.

_:Of course not,: _Kantor said.  _:But why don't you want her to leave?  That is the question you must find the answer for:_

_:I've never been in love,: _Alberich said woefully.  _:How do I know this is truly love?:_

_:Look into your heart, Chosen,:_ Kantor advised gently.  _:That's the only way to know.:_

Alberich sat a long time thinking and puzzling through his feelings and finally found the strength to accept the truth.  He was in love with Sheria.  Now what was he supposed to do?

_:I would suggest going back and apologizing for walking out on her like that, for starters,: _Kantor said as Alberich swung himself up onto Kantor's back.

_:What must she think of me,: _ he asked Kantor.  Kantor headed back towards the salle at a canter.

_:I don't know, Chosen.  You left her quite abruptly, and without a word.:_

When Alberich and Kantor arrived at the salle the Weaponsmaster hit the ground before Kantor had come to a stop.  He rushed through the empty salle to the rooms in the back, then abruptly his footsteps stopped.  He stood and stared stupidly at the open door to her empty room.  She had packed up all her things, which must not have taken her very long, and left.  Pain hit him in the chest so swiftly it dropped him to his knees, gasping for breath.  Gone, she couldn't be gone!  He howled his pain and loss in one wordless cry that tore from his throat, his heart.

~*~

_:Chosen, wake up!: _Cymry said urgently into Skif's mind.  He came awake completely in an instant.

_:What is it,: _he asked, sitting up in bed.

_:Sheria packed up and left this morning,: _She replied.  _:You need to go into the city and find her:_

_:Why,: _ he asked, but he was already pulling on the appropriate set of clothing.

_:She finally told Alberich how she feels, and he reacted badly,: _Cymry admitted.

_:Badly how,: _he asked as he pulled on his boots and headed down the corridor.

_:He just walked out on her,: _Cymry explained.

_:Ouch.: _ Skif walked faster.  Cymry waited for him at the door.

:She packed everything she owned and left.  Kantor says Alberich isn't taking it well that she's gone.  She can't have gotten far.  You need to find her and keep sight of her until Alberich can catch up with you so they can work this out.:

:What a mess,: Skif said as he jumped onto Cymry's back.

:Lifebonds usually are, at first,: Cymry replied.

:Lifebond?: The information rocked Skif.  No wonder Alberich wasn't taking it well.  He urged Cymry faster, praying he could find Sheria before something happened to her.  She probably wasn't doing very well herself right now.

~*~

Sheria wandered through the market, trying to find a good bow she could afford.  She had already picked up several things for her journey, but she still had yet to find a bow worth the asking price.  As soon as she did she'd head out, maybe get a ride with a carter for a while, out towards the border.  The border Guard posts always needed message runners.  Such a solitary task suited her right now.  She didn't want to be around people much anyway, and her skills, though much improved, still weren't up to the levels demanded by the Guard to actually join.

She reached into her pocket for a coin, intending to buy a sausage roll, but found her pocket bare.  She hissed through her teeth in dismay and stared wildly about for the culprit, to find Skif, a cocky grin on his face, leaning casually against a wall not too far from her.  She walked over to him, caught between amusement and annoyance, and held out her hand.  He just grinned wider, then switched to an innocent expression that coaxed a smile out of her.

"What are you doing here, lightening my pockets, you imp," she asked.

"I heard you were leaving," he replied.  "Without saying goodbye, I might add."  He shook his finger at her.  "Shame on you.  So, let me buy you lunch and you can tell me about it."

"I can't, Skif," she said.  "I don't have time.  Give me back my money so I can go."

"Not a chance," he said.  "Not until after lunch.  I'm your friend, you owe me at least that much."

"Alright," she sighed, giving in.  She liked Skif, he could always make her laugh.  And he was the only one who already knew something about what was going on.  She followed him to the White Rider, the tavern the Heralds frequented when they wanted to get away from the Collegium.  There weren't any Heralds in the back room this time of day, the majority of them tended to join the evening crowds, so they had their choice of tables.  Skif picked one which, predictably, gave him a clear view of the room and let him keep his back to the wall.  Old habits, she assumed.  The serving girl brought stew, bread, and ale, then left them alone.

"So, what happened," Skif asked.  She took a long pull of her ale before answering.

"Well, I was making my usual mess of training again this morning," she admitted.  "I haven't really been able to concentrate around him for weeks.  So, anyway, after he managed to knock me flat on my back for the fourth time he wanted to know what was going on."

"So you told him," Skif guessed.  She nodded.

"All the frustration, doubt, everything I felt just turned to anger and boiled out."

"He didn't take it well," Skif asked.  She shook her head, and her eyes were suspiciously bright.  Skif guessed she was going to be in tears before she finished.

"He just stared at me in complete shock for about half a minute, then he…left."

"He left?" Skif was shocked.

"He didn't say a thing, he just walked out," she told him, tears slowly welling up out of her eyes to trickle down her cheeks.  "I guess that's all the answer I need.  So I packed my things and left.  I just couldn't stay there another moment.  The thought of seeing him again, after that, I just…couldn't bear it.  It just hurt too much."

"I'm sorry," Skif said, meaning it.  He slid his chair around next to hers and put his arms around her.  She turned her face into his shoulder and cried, all the pain and loss flooding out of her in wracking sobs that tore at his own heart.  He hoped Alberich would get here soon so they could fix this mess.

~*~

Alberich was a good ways towards getting roaring drunk in his quarters when Kantor interrupted his solitary drinking bout.  After he had found Sheria gone, he just shut down.  Kantor had told the Dean's Companion that Alberich was indisposed today, and Elcarth had taken care of arrangements for Alberich's classes to be covered.  Talamir had heard what was going on and had stopped by, but Alberich refused to see him.  Truth be told, Talamir hadn't needed to be told, he could feel the Weaponsmaster's pain quite clearly.  When Talamir and Selenay learned from their Companions that steps were being taken to fix things they just exchanged a look and let it be.

:Chosen,: Kantor spoke quite firmly into Alberich's mind.

:Leave me alone,: he responded sullenly.

:Skif found her,: Kantor told him. :He's taking her to the White Rider.:

:She's not gone?:  His head came up.

:Let's go get her, Chosen,: Kantor urged.  :Let's bring her back home.:

:She left because she doesn't want me,: he said, afraid to hope.

:She left because she thought you didn't want her,: Kantor said.  :Now come on.  I'm waiting at the door.:

Alberich rose to his somewhat unsteady feet, grabbed his cloak, and ran down the corridor.  Kantor had gotten himself saddled already, and Alberich vaulted onto his back.  As soon as his Chosen was mounted, Kantor took off at a run for the White Rider.  When they got to the tavern Kantor left Alberich at the front door, then took himself off to the stables.  Alberich walked in and through the main room to the door to the back room the Heralds used, pausing when he heard voices.  It was easy to identify Skif and Sheria.  He listened carefully.

"He left?" Skif was saying, sounding shocked.

"He didn't say anything, he just walked out," Sheria told the boy.  "I guess that's all the answer I need."  Alberich winced, thinking she must hate him.  How could he possibly face her after leaving her like that, without a word?

:Chosen, you must face her,: Kantor said.  :Both of you will be miserable until you work this out.:

:Maybe I should just let her leave,: he replied.  :I don't have anything to offer her.:

:Chosen, you have yourself,: Kantor replied gently.  :That's quite a bit.:

He returned his attention to the conversation, but all he could hear now was sobbing.  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door.  He could see Sheria sobbing on Skif's shoulder, his arms around her, and a flash of anger and jealousy ran through him.  He throttled it down, fighting both the ale he had drank earlier and his emotions for calm. When the alcohol haze receded from his mind he guessed Kantor was helping, somehow buffering him from the effects of the drink.  Skif noticed him and stood and walked out without a word, leveling a look at Alberich as he passed that the Weaponsmaster couldn't interpret, leaving the two of them alone.  Alberich stepped into the room and closed the door behind him

"What are you doing here," Sheria asked finally, after they had stared at each other for about five minutes.  She was a mess, her face tear-streaked and blotchy, hair straggling out of her braid.  His fingers twitched, remembering the feel of that dark mass in his hands, and he actually had to fight down the impulse to reach out and smooth the stray hairs back into place.

"Looking for you,"  he said.  "We need to talk."

"I don't see how talking will help," she replied, her voice hollow, as if there wasn't any emotion left in her.  "You made your feelings quite clear."

"So, pack up and leave you will without a word to anyone," he asked.

"I'm following your example," she shot back, anger in her voice and sparks in her eyes.  He flinched.  She had him there.

"Done that to you I should not have," he said.  "Completely off guard you caught me, and know what to do I did not."

"You teach us that our first instinct is usually the correct one," she snapped.  "Your first instinct was to get away from me."

"I was wrong," he said gravely.  "I panicked."  He went over to her, fell to one knee in front of her chair, looked earnestly into her eyes.  "Mean to drive you away I did not.  Please don't go."

"Why," she demanded, torn between wanting to run away and wanting a reason not to.  "Why should I stay?  What is there to keep me?"

"Love," he said simply, taking her hand, gazing into her eyes.  She stared at him for a long moment, not comprehending his words.

"What," she asked stupidly.

"Love you I do," he explained gently.  "And let you go I will not," he added firmly.

As his words finally sank in she threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly.  After a moment of surprise, he returned her kiss with enthusiasm.

:About time,:  Kantor said, amusement and approval coloring his mind-voice.


End file.
